Odyssey (Continued)by Veronica Schanoes |
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4) Circe"This broke my spirit. I sat on the bed 10.519-21 Loss becomes lost an abyss someone You are not here but he is and does he want me? I can make him want me — want must be his portion and not mine. I sat on the bed, knelt in the stairwell lay down in the back of a cab leaned against a wall at night in the cold. Young. Soft skin. Hot pussy. Great ass. so I hear so I hear so I hear so I see the man in the next cab staring I see so I see the posts supporting the bannister how many? count one, count two . . . I see so I see his face outlined above me the lines in his face are so many they radiate out. I am mourning my love I am mourning for you I cannot find you I am gone too lost I am ugly, pudding and porridge blurred, out of focus until he blows fairy dust on me and I sparkle with marks I never feel. You thought I was beautiful — Weren't we beautiful? Look at me, crystalline, getting fucked by a married man. I don't feel a thing and next week he won’t know who I am and next week I will still be missing missing you and next week I can already feel the tears and next week presses down. Didn’t you know how much I needed you? I am freezing. 5) Hades 1: Meat to the Dog"Turning green and pink decomposing . . .Then a kind of a tallowy kind of a cheesy. Then begin to get black, black treacle oozing out of them. Then dried up . . .Of course the cells or whatever they are go on living. Changing about. Live for practically ever. Nothing to feed on feed on themselves." Ulysses p. 89 "This is the way it is with mortals. 11.220-3 To pass through Hades you must throw meat to the dog. In a white room you began to rot to swell to smell sweet and spongey to break down cell by cell to attract roaches while your heart was still beating. I put my arms around you but you did not hold on to me when I needed you most. Putrifying under the skin I could smell her rot like my city in the summer the stink of our streets in the weather we loved best the heat and funk draws out the roaches. They scuttle on to my plate while I’m still eating she decays while her heart is still beating They overrun the cupboards and no scrubbing can remove the taste of their legs They swarm into my water bottle crawl through my laundry They nest in the warmth of my coat They eat the threads I am wearing her heart is still beating while I wait for her to come home for her eyes to open in a decaying shape of flesh her heart is still beating. While her heart is still beating they cut out her eyes, her bones, her liver and lungs Her brain we reduce to ash. So I looked toward home, the sewage stagnating in my veins. And that is the way it is with us mortals. 
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